Hello, My Name Is
by MaybeALittleBroken
Summary: "Come on wake up" A faint voice said. Someone was pressing on my chest repeatedly. Suddenly I was awake and coughing up water. A blurry shape moved into my vision and pressed my shoulder to keep me from sitting up. The voice came back. "Relax." it said, "What's your name?" I stared up in confusion wracking my brain for an answer. "I-I don't know."
1. Chapter 1

Nothing felt real. I could hear loud noises but distantly, like my ears were plugged with cotton. My body felt like lead, but far away like it wasn't really mine.

"Come on," A voice said from somewhere, "wake up."

Someone was pressing on my chest repeatedly, or at least I think it was my chest.

Suddenly I was awake, coughing up water. The light stung my eyes and the noise now stabbed my ears at full force.

I jerked up but pressure on my shoulder pushed me back. A blurry face moved into my vision. "Relax," it said, "what's your name?"

I just stared up in confusion, wracking my brain for an answer. My name? Why couldn't I remember my name? "I-I don't know." I finally stammered.

The face was coming into focus. Light hair, dark eyes, wide nose. "Do you know where you are?"

"No." I whispered. "I don't know the date either and I don't know when I was born or who you are or- or anything. I can't remember a thing. Oh my gosh, I can't remember anything." I could feel my pulse speed up as I began to panic.

I tried to sit up again and immediately started coughing violently. The world faded out again. Everything went black.

"Hello? That's it come on." It was the voice again. The voice and the blurry face.

The first thing I noticed was that I was lying on my back again. The second that I was soaking wet. The third was the well lined faced leaning over me was also dripping. The fourth was that these three- four things were just about the only things I knew for sure.

It suddenly occurred to me that I had coughed up a lot of water and this man was most likely as wet as I was because he had saved me from drowning. "I think I should say thank you because I think you saved my life." I said shakily. "Can I get up now?"

"No, your pupils are dilated unevenly so you probably have a concussion. Can you remember anything?"

"No." My voice was hardly audible. "Who are you? Am I supposed to know you?"

"No you don't know me. My name is John Watson."

"Was I really drowning then John?" My voice sounded so small.

"I'm afraid so."

"Do you… Ummm do you happen to know why? Or why I can't remember who I am?"

"It could be because of your head injury or possibly psychosomatic."

"Why?"

"Why could it be psychosomatic?" John asked and I nodded. "A traumatic event can cause memory loss."

"Will I get it back?"

"That's hard to say."

"Oh." My brain was fuzzy. I felt like I was sinking now and I was losing focus fast. "I think I'm going to pass out again." I slurred. "Don't leave, yours is the only name I know."

"Wait." John started but I was unconscious before he finished the sentence.

~~l~~

"I'm telling you John, you don't just appear in the Thames and not remember who you are." Sherlock practically shouted throwing open a door and sidestepping a nurse.

"Sherlock you can't just walk into her hospital room. She needs to rest, you didn't see the condition she was in when I pulled her out." John said trailing after him desperately.

"Exactly. I need to know why."

"Why what? I know you're going through a dry spell or whatever but there's nothing here. She fell off a bridge or a boat or something."

"Don't be ridiculous John. Nobody just falls off a bridge all by themselves." He stopped in front of a door, readjusted his coat and marched through. "Oh, this is interesting." He said immediately after entering the room.

"Sherlock." John hissed following him in.

The girl was lying on her side curled into a ball with her back to the door, black hair spread over the pillows haphazardly. She must have woken up at least once to move but her breathing was even now and John figured she was sleeping.

"There is definitely something here." Sherlock said thoughtfully scanning the room.

"Really, Sherlock?"

"Look at the way she's lying. Back to the door would usually signal somebody is comfortable with their surroundings, but not her. The cup of water on the table there is in just the right place to reflect the door to her position. A refracted reflection yes, but still something so she is paranoid."

"A nurse could have put the cup there."

"Possibly yes but given the other evidence unlikely. The foetal position is protective. See how her face is buried in the blankets? She's hiding from something, or trying to."

"Hiding from what?"

"Whatever threw her in that river. She might not remember consciously but it's all still there." He tapped his head. "You said she had an American accent?"

"No, Scottish."

"She's American. What did her clothes look like?" He asked running his finger along the edge of the bed.

"How do you know that?"

"Clothes." He demanded ignoring John.

John rolled his eyes but answered Sherlock's question in the hopes that it would help get them out of there faster. "Mostly wet Sherlock, she was drowning I wasn't paying attention to what she was wearing."

"Of course you did. You had to have noticed something."

"I don't know they were normal, jeans and a jumper."

"Colour?"

"Darkish I guess. Sherlock what is this about?"

"Darkish, not black?"

"Sherlock."

"Smart." Sherlock walked around the bed and pulled the blanket away from her face.

"Stop it. You'll wake her up."

"No. She's not sleeping, unconscious more likely. Heart rate is too even and she didn't move when we entered. A traumatic event causes memory repression not loss if she's lying like that subconsciously then what else would she have John? Think."

"Nightmares."

"Yes." Sherlock picked up her hand and rubbed her wrist with his thumb. "Strange." He pulled the rest of her arm out from under the blanket and examined it. "Very strange."

"Excuse me." A young female voice said. "You can't be in here."

John turned around to face a scowling nurse. Sherlock didn't look up. "Right, sorry we were just leaving, weren't we Sherlock."

"Not really."

"Sherlock!"

"I'm getting security." The nurse huffed, walking away.

"This is enough now Sherlock. Let's just leave."

"I need to talk to her." He said straightening up and pulling the blanket back up to her chin.

"No you don't."

Sherlock walked back around the bed to John. "She's lying about something."

"Do you think she remembers who she is then?"

"No. I think she really repressed her memory."

"Then how is she lying?"

"She isn't Scottish."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

Sherlock scoffed like it was obvious. "Imagine somebody just pulled you out of the water, you can't remember who you are, where you are or how you got there. Are you talking in a completely different accent than the one you grew up with?"

John paused. "No."

"So why was she and what is she hiding from?" Sherlock glanced away from John toward the girl. "She moved."

John was just about to ask what that had to do with anything when the nurse came back followed by two security guards.

~~l~~

I woke up slowly to the sound of arguing. My first instinct was to stay still and listen though I wasn't sure why.

"You don't understand." A very annoyed, very pompous voice said. It was a man, tall by the volume and direction of his voice.

"Sir," a female voice started, "you need to leave this room right now." It was a young voice, exasperated and extremely self-riotous. Petite woman, maybe, judging by the pitch. I was in a hospital, that much I remembered, so this woman was a doctor or a nurse. Neither, no, she sounded too young, whiney, underappreciated possibly. Medical student.

"Sherlock." Another male voice demanded. This voice also exasperated and annoyed- Wait, I knew this voice. It was _the_ voice. The voice belonging to the man that saved me. John he said his name was.

I opened my eyes and, without moving my head, looked up through my eyelashes at the cup. I barely remembered moving the cup and wasn't exactly sure why I looked at it until I saw the reflections. I could see four shapes. The fourth taking up the whole doorway, being too big to be one person and consisting of the same colours must be two people dressed identically, most likely security going by the context of the conversation. The room held five people plus me. A smaller person, the student, stood in front of the pair in the door. She was dressed in green scrubs. She had blonde hair that was, most likely, pulled back because I couldn't see a colour difference between the blur that was her face and her hair. The other two shapes, the tall man and John, were harder to make out standing barely on the edge of what I could see. The tall man, Sherlock, was wearing black and John wearing a lighter colour close to tan.

"I need to talk to her." Sherlock said.

Why did he want to talk to me?

"No, you don't." The student retorted.

The guards moved forward.

"Just ask her if she wants to talk to us." Sherlock said.

"She isn't even conscious-" The student started, louder this time.

"Yes," Sherlock cut her off, "she is. She woke up about thirty seconds ago."

"What?" John asked. I heard his feet scrape against the ground and saw his cup reflection turn.

"They can stay." I said quietly without moving. "John wasn't it?"

The student huffed and threw up her hands

"I'd like it if you left." I snapped.

Mumbling to herself she left, followed by security.

"Why do you want to talk to me Sherlock?" I rolled onto my back and pushed myself into an almost sitting position.

"Your accent is Scottish." He said turning to me.

"Yes, what does that have to do with anything?"

"You're American."

"Am I? That's interesting then, isn't it. If I am an American why do I have a Scottish accent? How do you figure I'm an American anyhow?"

Both John and Sherlock sat down on the uncomfortable hospital chairs next to the bed.

"That's not important. Do you remember anything?"

"Nothing at all until I woke up staring at John and since then very little."

"Then why didn't you immediately look at us when you woke up?" He asked leaning forward. "Why look at the cup? Why didn't you yell for a nurse like an ordinary person? You were listening to the conversation and that's how you knew my name but you didn't say anything until I said you were already awake. What are you hiding from?"

"I think if I knew how to answer your questions you would hardly be so interested in me."

"Why do you think I'm interested in you?" He immediately leaned back.

"You said you _needed_ to talk to me after just walking in here, judging by the med student's reaction. Then you proceeded to bombard me with questions after telling me I'm American when I don't even know myself, all before I said hardly one word to you. Yes, you are very interested because I believe we are both under the same impression that I was supposed to die in that water yet here I am. I am not dead but I might as well be considering that I can't even remember my own name."

"You called her a student not a nurse or a doctor." Sherlock leaned forward again.

"She was too young, had something to prove. Could have been an underappreciated nurse but student made more sense."

Sherlock nodded. "Impressive for an ordinary person."

"I'm not entirely convinced you think I'm ordinary. You find me interesting which makes me abnormal automatically by default."

"Why is that so?"

"Because I don't think you find very many people interesting."

"Wait," John said holding a hand up, "how are you doing this?"

I thought about that. "I have absolutely no idea. Ooooh this is good. I must have been a _very _remarkable person."

"Past tense?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

I laughed, "You tell me."

"You're enjoying this." It wasn't a question.

I smiled. "I think so, yes."

"You're trying to mess with my head, why?"

"Trying? I think its working."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"You know," he hissed, "what I am asking you."

"Oh, that?" I said innocently. "I don't know. Fun isn't it?"

"No." Sherlock stood and began pacing back and forth.

"Sherlock." John said warningly.

"What are you?" Sherlock said to no one in particular. "You have training, lots of training. So much training its instinct. Can't even remember who you are but you're still playing mind games. The accent is part of an alias. You rely on it so much that even without knowing it you're still using it. Your posture is as exact as you can make it with bruised ribs."

I pulled my legs up and crossed my arms. "How?" I started suddenly very uncomfortable but Sherlock ignored me.

"Exact but still defensive. Defensive, why defensive? You want control, need it, that's why you talk like that. You don't establish power physically so you're used to being the smallest person in the room. Old scars on your wrist, most likely from rope, but nothing recent. Not even bruises on your arms. I'd say you jumped in yourself but you didn't give yourself a concussion, or the bruised ribs. The sprained ankle most likely came from running. Other injuries too but nothing visible. Nothing at all visible so somebody knew what they were doing."

My nails dug into my arms as I tried to calm down. Flashes of something kept pushing their way into my memory. Something unpleasant and dark and scary.

John, who had been previously watching Sherlock, turned to look at me. "Sherlock." He said, his eyes widening, "Sherlock stop it now."

"Just enough damage to incapacitate you and still make it look like a believable accidental drowning. They had training too, yes, but who? Who is they. Why are they after you?"

"Sherlock!" John yelled.

~~l~~

_I was running through a street splashing though puddles from the earlier rain. Every few seconds I glanced over my shoulders looking for something. There was nothing behind me but I wouldn't stop. I couldn't stop. My life depended on not stopping. _

_I turned a corner and my foot slipped. A cry of pain escaped my lips as I fell to my knees. A feeling of hopelessness washed over me. I was going to die. I knew it. I had ran halfway across the world and now all the way through the streets of London, and here I was sitting in the middle of the road. At what point was it all too much? When was it time to just give up?_

_Light filled the narrow street and ducked my head to stare at my shadow. Part of me still hoped it was somebody else. I wanted it to be the police or maybe just a random person. In fact, I didn't even care who anymore. Just not them._

_A car door opened and then slammed shut. Heavy footsteps made their way toward me._

_"__Please." I said quietly, "Please no."_

~~l~~

"Can you hear me? It's alright, you're alright. Calm down."

I was starring up at John again. He was pinning me to the ground on my back holding onto my wrists. Other people were in the room too but I couldn't tell how many.

"Can you hear me?" John asked.

My head was pounding and my breathing was ragged. What happened? Why was I on the floor now?

"Can you hear me?" he asked again.

"I can't stay here." I gasped instead of answering. "I don't want to be here. Get me out of here John Watson, get me out." I was screaming by then end of the last sentence and his grip tightened around my wrists to keep me from lashing out.

"Calm down." John said soothingly.

"I will not until you get me out of this bloody hospital. I can't stay here, please, please don't make me." I sobbed, closing my eyes.

"Okay, okay I won't. Let's get you off the floor." He let go of my arms and moved away.

I opened my eyes to see a male nurse step toward me. "Not him. Not any of them. I want them to go away."

"You can't-" A voice I didn't recognize began.

"I want them to leave!" I shrieked kicking out at the nurse.

"Okay, okay they're leaving." John shooed the other people out of the room arguing with a few but I couldn't follow what they were saying. I closed my eyes again. "Sherlock can you get her back up?"

Sherlock mumbled something but stepped forward anyway. I flinched when he slid his arms under my back but kept my eyes closed until he laid me back down on the bed.

"Tell me what you saw?" Sherlock demanded hovering over me.

"I don't remember." I answered. I wanted it to be true. I wanted desperately not to remember that cold terror at the sound of those footsteps, but I did.

"Yes you do."

"No I don't." Why couldn't I tell him? I knew I remembered but I couldn't say it. I refused to say it. Why?

"Stop Sherlock." John said shutting the door and walking back over. "You've done enough."

Sherlock turned on his heel and walked over to the window.

John ignored him and leaned over me, all business now. "Follow my finger." He held his right index finger a few inches from my face and moved it around a bit. I followed it half focused and John pursed his lips. He seemed tired and worried. "Do you know where you are?" he asked putting down his hand.

"A hospital in London."

"That's good. Can you tell me what just happened?"

"I don't know. Sherlock was talking and then I woke up on the floor."

"She's lying." Sherlock said without turning around.

"Please-" He stopped when he realized he didn't have a name to call me. "If you remember anything tell us. We can help."

I shook my head. "I don't."

Sherlock turned around abruptly. "Have you got a pen John?"

"Why?"

"Pen."

John sighed and pulled a pen out of his jacket. He handed it to Sherlock.

"Paper?"

John reached back into his jacket and produced an envelope. There was something in it but he gave it to Sherlock anyway.

"Sign your name." Sherlock commanded putting the pen in my hand.

"I'm sorry what?"

"Muscle memory. You sign your name on contracts and letters and when you use a credit cards."

I gripped the pen tightly and stared at the envelope.

"Don't be all day about it."

With a slight attitude of what can I lose I signed the paper and handed it to John.

He squinted at it. "This looks like an O."

Sherlock snatched the envelope out of John's hands. "The O is the only real letter, the rest is just a bunch of squiggles but what else can we expect from someone as paranoid as you. The question is, is that O part of your real name or the alias?"

John looked back and forth between me and Sherlock for a moment. "I think we should let her rest now Sherlock."

"You're not leaving me here alone. If you go I'll climb out the window. I'll do it and I'll get myself killed."

"No, no of course we can't leave her John." Sherlock said and we both looked at him, completely surprised. "She's a client." He smiled. "Oh this is fun."

~~l~~

**AN- I have to say up front that I won't update regularly at all, but I will update eventually. I'm not exactly sure how this one started (I think it had something to do with binge watching Sherlock and then lying on the bottom of my friends pool) when I already have a ton of other things going on so if you're reading my other stuff I am really sorry. Anyway, please review and tell me what you think I'm not quite sure about this one. **


	2. Chapter 2

"Is that a real skull?" I asked John, pointing at the object in question.

"Yeah, don't ask." He glanced at it and then at Sherlock who was staring out the window, hands clasped behind his back.

Sherlock hadn't said a word since after he told me to sign my name at the hospital.

I had left the hospital against doctor's advise, though John had done most of the talking. My head trauma was a concern and the 'episode', as they had taken to calling it, obviously was a problem. I, however, didn't care. Being in such close proximity to that many people was only making things worse and in the end there was nothing anybody could do. John had mentioned once or twice that he was a doctor and that was enough for me.

Now I was standing awkwardly in their flat. It was weird being here. Sherlock obviously didn't like me very much, at least not my personality. When I had said he found me interesting at the hospital I knew it hadn't been entirely true. Sherlock found my predicament interesting. He thought the fact that I had completely repressed my memory yet still clung to an alias was something for him to figure out. I would be surprised if he saw me as a person at all.

John, on the other hand, confused me slightly. He was more compassionate than Sherlock and it made perfect sense that he was a doctor. There had been an understanding that was more than just empathy in his eyes at the hospital and I figured he had his own trouble. War maybe? He looked the type. He would have to be incredibly loyal and patient to put up with someone like Sherlock. I just didn't know _why_ he put up with Sherlock.

Feeling dizzy I leaned against the wall next to the mantle and raised an eyebrow at the skull. "So, how's life?" I asked it. "Or death or whatever."

"Don't talk to the skull." Sherlock said, making me jump and then grab my ribs to somehow lesson the pain the movement had caused.

"I think someone is jealous." I whispered conspiratorially. "It's because you like me better than him."

Sherlock ignored me, or he had just stopped paying attention.

"It's okay because I like me better than I like him too. Of course, I think I like me better than everyone. John, why am I talking to this skull?" I looked up and realised John was no longer in the room with me and Sherlock. "Right, okay."

I took a few slightly crooked steps and sat down on the edge of a chair and looked around. I had glanced around upon first arriving but that had been quick. I had only noted the general layout and any possible exits. Now actually looking around I noticed how disorganized the place really was. There was another chair in front of me, a couch across the room, a coffee table, random lamps and knick knacks strewn about the room on end tables and other available surfaces. I had only gotten a glimpse of the kitchen and had noticed test tubes and what looked like a brain on that table. Of course, I wasn't going to question any of this.

I looked up as John reentered the room followed by an older woman carrying a tray.

"Hello dear, I'm Ms. Hudson." She said, smiling.

"Hi." I said smiling back. I liked her. She was small but there was something about her, something feisty.

"John told me about your situation and it's just a shame." She set the tray down on a mostly clean end table and bustled around for a moment, pouring the tea and wiping the table off some.

"I'll agree with that" I debated standing but decided it wasn't the smartest idea at the moment. "But, uh, at least I'm not drowning at the moment so I guess that's improvement. Thanks again for that John."

John mumbled something in response but didn't seem to be paying very much attention.

"Here, have some tea and relax." Ms. Hudson said handing me a cup.

"Thank you, but I think I'd rather sleep." I took the cup tentatively.

"Nope, you can't sleep." John said sitting in the chair opposite me.

Ms. Hudson shook her head sadly and left the flat.

I made a face. "Is it because of the concussion?" I whined, sounding like a five year old. Though to be fair I didn't know how old I was anyway.

I was barely shorter than John and when I had glanced at my reflection in a mirror earlier I looked, at least to myself, to be somewhere early twenties. Straight black hair, gray eyes, small frame and ordinary features made me inconspicuous. I had decided this was a good thing considering recent events.

"Yes." John answered my question simply.

"That's not fair." I huffed, leaning back in the chair. "My head hurts."

"That's the point. You couldn't even walk in a straight line coming in."

I took a sip of the tea, thoroughly defeated. "Fine, but I'm not doing this alone. If I'm staying up, you are too."

John nodded but didn't otherwise reply.

I drank my tea in silence for a few minutes and watched Sherlock. He still hadn't moved and I applauded his ability to do so. I had hardly been sitting here for five minutes and I had already changed positions about ten times.

Bored with Sherlock's motionlessness I turned my attention back to John. He was sitting with a laptop open on his lap, typing with his index fingers. He seemed pretty intent on whatever was on the screen, but still relaxed.

I puffed up my cheeks and blew my breath up through my bangs. "John?"

"Yeah?"

"You were a doctor in the war, yes?"

He only looked mildly surprised. "Yes."

"Sherlock said that in the first five seconds, didn't he? And then he told you your whole life story no doubt."

"Yeah he did."

"It's entirely unfair," I sighed. Glancing at Sherlock, again, I wondered if he was paying any attention. He seemed to be completely elsewhere but that didn't stop me from being cautious in what I said. "I want to know how he does it. I'm jealous." There was an edge to my voice that I hadn't quite meant to let slip, John didn't let on if he noticed.

"I wouldn't be. Sherlock is…" he trailed off, though I was sure he knew more than one way to end the sentence "Conversationally challenged?" I offered.

"Among other things."

I laughed nervously. I felt so weird being here. It didn't help that every time I moved my head I was hit with a wave of dizziness and I couldn't remember who I was. But I had to admit it was better being here than the hospital or a cab.

The taxi ride had been horrible. I hesitated before getting in, only relenting at John's warm reassurance that I would be fine. Then, I had leaned against the door distinctly uncomfortable with not knowing where I was going, my eyes flickering between Sherlock, the cabbie and outside the windows. At that point I had to agree with Sherlock's earlier assessment, I wanted control. More than that, I _needed_ it. John tried to distract me with meaningless conversation but Sherlock simply made note of my behavior silently. I still wasn't sure which I appreciated more.

I took a deep breath to try and relieve the tension in my chest. It disappeared for a moment but came back the second I exhaled. There were too many questions. I could mess with Sherlock all I wanted I still had nothing without answers.

That memory achieved nothing. Well, that wasn't entirely true. I did know now that I was, in fact, American and that someone was trying to kill me. But why? That was the mother of all questions.

Why?

"How did you and Sherlock meet?" I settled for asking a question I could get an answer to.

"He was looking for a flat mate."

"Why did you agree? You admit freely that he isn't the easiest to handle." I wanted to understand their relationship better. Actually, I really just wanted to understand _something._

John hesitated before answering. "It's never boring."

It would make perfect sense that John wasn't the type for a quiet life, being ex-military, and had joined Sherlock for the excitement of it. It was probably a good thing too, his humanity certainly balanced out Sherlock.

Sherlock suddenly turned, his abrupt movement startling me, and walked across the flat, down a short hall and into a room I assumed to be his.

"Is that normal than?" I asked John who seemed utterly unfazed by the event.

John nodded.

"Okay."

Silence again.

My eyes skimmed through the room once more and this time I noticed the bright yellow smiley face on the wall across the room. I looked at it blankly. The wall was staring at me. I was not surprised. Why should I be surprised? For all I knew I had a face on my wall too. It was hard to judge someone when you didn't know who you were.

John finished whatever he was doing on his laptop and set it aside. "Are you alright?"

"Huh?" I asked looking away from the wall.

"You're pale."

"Oh, I'm fine. Just tired."

He nodded, unconvinced. "Your ribs?"

"A little sore but it's fine."

"Your head?"

"Fine, John, I'm okay." He seemed to be working up to something with his questions.

"Earlier when you-"

"I don't remember anything." I interrupted, not even letting him finish because for some reason I felt guilty lying to John.

"If Sherlock says you remember something, you do."

"Just how much do you trust him?" I tried to change the subject.

"Tell me the truth." I felt like I assumed small children felt when they were scolded by their parents at John's stern tone.

I bit my lip and sighed, then immediately regretted it when the ache in my ribs intensified. "I was running from someone, looking for something, and twisted my ankle." I looked down at the ground unable to meet John's gaze.

"That isn't it, is it?"

"I just sat there, John, it felt so pointless. I got the feeling I had been running for a longer than was worth it. Then there was a car and footsteps and I woke up all hysterical on the ground." I had pulled my feet up onto the chair next to me. "It was his voice, Sherlock's, I don't know what it was but the way he talks _at_ you just…" I pursed my lips. "I don't know."

My gaze flickered up to John's face for half a second before returning to the floor. He was thinking about what I said.

"So it's Sherlock."

"Huh?"

John leaned back in his chair, exasperated. "Of course it's Sherlock."

I finally got what he was saying. Sherlock was a trigger, or at least his detached personality was. Every swear word I knew, which was a lot considering circumstances, made their way through my mind. Sherlock was probably the only person who could help me. What was that old saying? Something about double edged swords.

"O look at me."

O? Right, the only thing we knew about my name was that it started with an O.

I looked up at John. His expression was one of concern and he was leaning toward me but hadn't come any closer than that. He was probably afraid I would lose it completely like I had earlier.

"I'm alright," I lied. John was perfectly aware of the lie, mostly because I had just been hyperventilating slightly. "I don't like 'O' so much as a name." I continued and this time John went with the subject change.

"We can't just call you 'her' and 'she' all the time."

"For heavens sake John, call her Olivia."

"What?" John turned to look at Sherlock who had been standing in the entrance to the hallway silently for I didn't know how long.

"Olivia. It's her name, her alias anyway. It's the most common female name starting with that letter and if you look at her signature carefully you can see how she does partially form the letters." he walked across the room as he talked and flopped down onto the sofa.

John turned back toward me. "Does that name sound familiar?"

I shook my head no, still watching Sherlock. He had changed into a dark dressing gown and had his hands steepled against his chin.

"He was right about the American thing though." I told John quietly. "How did he know that?"

John didn't answer me.

I started messing with my hair in the heavy silence, but nearly gagged when I pulled it in front of my face. It smelt horrible. Ugh, that disgusting water. I shivered, suddenly cold.

"I should have the location of your flat by tomorrow, you'll be able to wash it then."

"Thank you?" I said looking between Sherlock and John. "That's not creepy at all."

John had picked his laptop up again and Sherlock stared at the ceiling. Again there was silence. I tapped my fingers on my knee for a moment before leaning back in the chair and closing my eyes. My head hurt and John wasn't paying attention.

_I was falling. No, that wasn't right. I was moving too slow. Falling in slow motion? That didn't seem right either. Something was wrong here I just didn't know what. Yes I did, I couldn't breathe. Was breathing important? Yes. Yes, breathing was very important. Why? I didn't seem to be dead yet. Did it matter if I died? I had no answer for that one. I think it did, but then again thinking was a little difficult right now. No, no dying was definitely bad. _

_Dying was bad. I was dying. I was dying? **I was dying.**_

_The realisation came too late. My lungs were screaming but the rest of my body was too numb to do anything about it. I was just sinking. Sinking, yes that was the correct verb. I was sinking and dying, but it was taking too long. Why was it taking so long? Shouldn't I already be dead?_

_Something else was wrong here. What was happening wasn't right at all, because… because… because why? I had a reason just a second ago and now it's gone. Wait, it was back. This was all wrong because I was dreaming. That sounded right. None of this was real. All I had to do was-_

"-wake up."

I jerked awake and tensed. For a moment I was confused about where I was. Then John came into my view and I relaxed. John was safe.

~~l~~

**AN-Bad place to end a chapter? Yeah probably but eh, it's midnight and I haven't updated in forever. I did decided to run with this one, (sorry for the wait), but I'm not entirely sure about the time this should take place. I was originally thinking series one but now I'm not sure because I absolutely love Mary. If I decide post TRF there will of course be a reason Marry hasn't been mentioned but I want to know what you guys think.**

**I also want to say I am not British, I am very American, and I will get things wrong. My bad habit of spelling random words not American I think comes from reading The Philosopher's Stone- that I borrowed from a friend that had been previously been stationed in Germany- when I was six or so, but I don't spell everything right (or wrong depending on your perspective) I actually do research on places and how some things work but I will still get stuff wrong. I don't want to offend anyone and if I do something wrong and you know better feel free to correct me by reviewing or pm.**

**Thank you to all follows and favorites I really wasn't expecting such a big response. (yeah this is big for me)**

**WarlockedDragon- You get cake for being the first review and you made me smile ****J. I love the Holmes brothers too.**

**Guest- You made me a little sad. Olivia was in no way intended to be a Mary Sue but there wasn't a lot of characterization in the first chapter so I see your point.**

**Empire of Fiction- Interesting and mysterious are two of my favourite adjectives. Honestly, I'm not entirely sure where I'm taking this either so I think we will both be either delightfully surprised or horribly let down.**

**DRVadamm- Your review made me stop freaking out so much and I thank you for that.**

**Tardisdude1- You must finish Sherlock, it is demanded.**

**epika123- I didn't realise I had taken the muscle memory thing from Castle until I rewatched that episode a few days after I wrote the first chapter, but that is definitely where that came from.**


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